


Meteor

by RainIsMyFavouriteColour



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Blood, Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Team Bonding, To Be Continued, Tragedy, blood mention, non-graphic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-22 22:27:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7456273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainIsMyFavouriteColour/pseuds/RainIsMyFavouriteColour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(based on <a href="http://y-annah.tumblr.com/post/146621701874/fun-angst-game-imagine-your-voltron-otp-with-this">this post</a> by <a href="http://http://y-annah.tumblr.com">y-annah</a><a></a>)</p><p>
  <i>If you’re lucky, you’ll see a meteor and think it’s beautiful. You’ll admire its graceful arc across a velvet sky, leaving a fiery streak of white, orange and red against deep, dark blue. You’ll see its glowing path momentarily blot out any stars as it flies past before they come through again with their own persistent light.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>If you’re a little less lucky, you’ll see a meteor and marvel at it from afar, until you realise something isn’t quite right. You’ll see its fire much too close, and your admiration will turn to naked fear as you hold your breath and hope against hope that it will pass without damage. You’re blotted out like the stars as it burns past you, only for you to flare up in relief when it’s gone.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>And if your luck has deserted you completely...</i>
</p><p>It was supposed to be simple mission: infiltrate the base, extract the information, leave before anyone even noticed they were there.<br/>It doesn’t quite go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Impact

_If you’re lucky, you’ll see a meteor and think it’s beautiful. You’ll admire its graceful arc across a velvet sky, leaving a fiery streak of white, orange and red against deep, dark blue. You’ll see its glowing path momentarily blot out any stars as it flies past before they come through again with their own persistent light._

_If you’re a little less lucky, you’ll see a meteor and marvel at it from afar, until you realise something isn’t quite right. You’ll see its fire much too close, and your admiration will turn to naked fear as you hold your breath and hope against hope that it will pass without damage. You’re blotted out like the stars as it burns past you, only for you to flare up in relief when it’s gone._

_And if your luck has deserted you completely, a crater will stand where everything you knew and loved used to be, an endless black hole that sucks you right in until that’s all you now possess._

* * *

 

Lance curses and ducks behind a sturdy stonewall. Less than a tick later, it shakes and vibrates with the impact of several deadly laser shots. Maybe not so sturdy after all, he thinks grimly, as spider web-thin lines fissure across the rock behind his head. They’re cornered with nowhere to go, time fast running out.

“We need a plan.” Keith says lowly from beside him, bayard cradled to his chest. There’s not much he can do without going in close, and Lance thanks his lucky stars that, for once, Keith is willing to let him do the fighting. Lance nods and wipes at his sweaty forehead, adding a streak of dirt on top of the grime.

“Yeah. You got one?”

Keith doesn’t reply right away and for a second Lance assumes it’s because he’s thinking; he glances over at his partner only to see he’s not there anymore. Lance’s eyes widen in alarm and his head swivels as he tries to spot him. A cut off scream and some clattering noise catch his attention from an almost invisible crack in the rocky interface of the cliff, and he’s up to investigate it in a flash. Barely even checking if the coast is clear, Lance runs.

The gap between their temporary cover and the source of the noise in minimal, but the Galra are nothing if not vigilant. Shots rain down on Lance and he counts himself as double lucky when only a single one grazes the outside of his leg. He does one of those cool stunts you see in the movies, where you roll over your shoulder and land on your feet, and then he’s out of sight. Lance allows himself a proud little grin before he realises that, while the shots may have ceased, their safety is far from guaranteed; thundering footsteps are closing in on them, and he knows their time is up.

“Keith!” he hisses into the dark alcove, tone urgent. He only hears his own words echoed back at him. One tick goes by, two – then there are sounds of a scuffle and some indistinct, muffled whispering. It sounds like Keith. Lance narrows his eyes, “Keith, we have to go –“

“Lance, get in here!” Keith calls, annoyingly commanding. Lance rolls his eyes, ignoring the immeasurable relief flooding him at the sure evidence that he’s safe, but acknowledges the pressing undertone his voice carries, and obeys.

“We don’t have time for this –“, he starts, blinking when he rounds a corner and an unexpected light shines directly into his eyes. He holds up a hand to shield his face until he can finally see something other than bright white. “What the – who is that?”

Keith is bent over something – someone. He has his sword out and pointed threateningly at the creature’s, an alien most likely, neck. He moves aside, leaving the blade where it is, to allow Lance a proper look. The light – a lantern floating above the alien’s head – flickers, illuminating it.

It doesn’t look quite like anything he has seen before, the closest comparison being something distinctly fish-like. Its round eyes have no lids and are completely black, like gigantic, shiny marbles, which protrude slightly from the sides of a head covered in smooth, moist-looking skin. It has no scales or hair, no nose, or even teeth, but it does have two long, whisker-like things set above its wide, gaping mouth. They curl and float in the air, a bit of a creepy sight, but the alien seems scared, if anything. Lance can see it trembling from where he’s standing, its body curled up in an attempt to protect itself. He stares down at it with a frown.

“It’s with the Galra.” Keith lifts the sword a little, the tip of it tapping the blinking symbol on the thick shackle around the alien’s neck. Its gills flutter at the motion, and it whimpers. Lance steps forward, laying his hand on the handle of Keith’s sword. The lantern pulses softly, making the skinned patches on the parts of its body not covered by some kind of dirt coloured cloth, visible. Lance can’t help but feel sorry for it.

“It’s harmless. Put that away, you’re scaring it.”

He doesn’t wait for Keith to do what he tells him to, crouching down so he’s on eye level with the poor thing.

“Hey.” he starts gently. Keith’s hand lands on his shoulder, pulling at him.

“What do you think you’re doing? It could be dangerous!” he argues, staring at the alien in suspicion as Lance glares up at him. His sword is still extended, his grip on it still tense even though it now hangs by his side.

“Dangerous? Have you looked at it?” Lance looks back at it, tone gentling and smiling. “What’s your name?”

His teeth glint in the light and the alien jerks away from him, making an alarmed sort of trilling noise. Its mouth opens wide, rows of razor-sharp teeth shooting out from its jaws. Lance jumps up, backing away a few steps. He bumps into Keith who grunts at the impact.

“Watch it!”

“It – are you seeing –“ Lance stammers, staring at him wide-eyed. He looks back at the alien who is back to cowering, face hidden by its body. “ – did you see its _teeth_?”

Keith frowns at him, corners of his mouth turned downwards.

“I told you it was dangerous.” is all he says, once again stepping forward and lifting his bayard. Lance steps in his way, closing one hand around the wrist of Keith’s sword hand. Keith glowers at him, tugging to try and free himself, but Lance doesn’t budge. He meets his gaze with a glare of his own.

“No! I think it’s scared.”

Lance takes another look at the alien who is peeking at the two of them from between webbed fingers. Three per hand, he absentmindedly notes. It sinks further into itself as Lance approaches it yet again. Reminding himself to not show his teeth since that seems to have triggered the alien’s reaction just now, he sinks to his knees beside it.

“I’m Lance.” he points at himself, giving it a close-mouthed smile as he does his best to sound friendly. Then he jerks a thumb over his shoulder at Keith. “And that asshole over there is Keith.”

“Hey!”

Keith’s protest is nearly drowned out by the sound of the Galra army approaching, their clattering armour echoing just outside the alcove and accompanied by shouted orders. All three of them look toward the entrance; all that separates them from the outside is a bend in the small tunnel leading to where they are. It’s only by sheer luck that they haven’t been discovered yet.

“We have to go. Now.” Keith says, face grim as he turns and grabs the alien by the arm. The Alien squeaks but doesn’t try to free itself.

“You’re only realising that now?”, Lance asks rhetorically, standing up, then adds, annoyed, “And don’t be so rough!” He goes to pry Keith’s fingers from the alien, when it finally speaks.

“There’s another exit that way.” Its voice is low and guttural, full of clicking noises, as it points behind itself at a boulder. “It hides a path out of here.”

Lance stares at it in astonishment while Keith only narrows his eyes at it in suspicion.

“Why should we trust you?” he asks, tone dripping with wariness. The alien stares back expressionlessly; or at least Lance assumes it’s expressionless as there is no way he can tell if it’s smiling or glaring or anything else.

“Do you have a choice?”

“I can hear voices from over there!” a Galran soldier shouts as if on cue. Lance and Keith glance at each other, then at the alien.

“Doesn’t look like it.” Lance comments casually, ignoring the venomous look Keith sends him. He nods at the alien. “Lead the way.”

The alien nods back and turns, giving Keith another stare when he doesn’t let go. Keith’s grip only becomes stronger.

“I’m not letting you escape.” he tells it, voice steely. It makes a tutting sound, half trembling, half resigned. Ignoring him hanging onto its arm, it moves the boulder with impressively little effort, exposing a dark, narrow tunnel. Lance catches himself hoping that Keith isn’t right and that it really is just a nice, harmless sort; he really doesn’t want to have to fight superhuman strength without his Lion.

The alien’s lantern floats forward, illuminating the first few meters, when it tilts its head, and he suddenly realises it’s not a lantern at all but a kind of glowing antennae attached to the top of the alien's skull. There’s no time to marvel at the revelation though, the Galra closing in with loud shouting and laser shots from just around the corner. Lance’s eyes widen comically as he all but shoves the two of them into the tunnel.

“ _Gogogo_!” he yells, turning to fire at the first wave of soldiers. The sole advantage of the small size of the cave, is that only a few can squeeze in at once. It gives Lance enough time to provide a few moments of cover which he uses to fire as many shots as he can at the ceiling before turning tail and fleeing.

They run, the sound of rumbling rock raining down on Galra soldiers echoing in their ears.

\- O -

An immeasurable amount of time later, though Lance estimates it to have been a good few hours as the sky has darkened, they are in another cave with a small fire between them. It’s a good distance away from the base he and Keith had been assigned to infiltrate, something they have Keith to thank for as he kept pushing until the alien was physically unable to travel any further. Lance can tell he’s still antsy, alternating his focus between the alien and their surroundings, and he likely would have gladly put even more distance between them and the Galra, had Lance not insisted on letting the alien rest. It helped them, after all. It can't be that bad, and even enemies deserve humane treatment. Lance tries not to think how that may or may not apply to non-human species; he can already feel a headache coming on.

His gaze travels over to the alien sitting a bit further away from the fire than the two of them. They’re still none the wiser about what its name or species is as it hasn’t made any attempt to speak ever since their escape through the tunnel. Lance also has to admit it’s making him a bit uncomfortable to keep referring to the alien as ‘it’. The softly glowing symbol on its shackle catches his attention when it begins to blink.

“Are you a prisoner of the Galra?” he asks, interrupting the silence interspersed with the crackling of fire. The alien hunches its narrow shoulders, making it look smaller. Its lantern forlornly bounces a little, casting dancing shadows across its face.

“I was.” it replies after a few moments, voice raspy. Keith leans forward from beside Lance, obviously interested, but it offers no more than that. Lance ploughs ahead anyway, too curious for more information on their new friend and too starved for conversation other than with the rest of the Paladins, Allura or Coran.

“How long?”

“I don’t remember.”

“What did you get arrested for?” The alien stiffens, clearly uncomfortable, so Lance hastily backtracks. “Never mind that. Say, you never told us your name.”

It almost looks like it won’t answer, its eyes focused on the flames which dance across their inky surface.

“Ptoq.” it finally says, tone thoughtful. “They never called us by our names...it’s been a very long time. But my name is Ptoq.”

“Ptoq.” Lance repeats, grimacing at his horrible pronounciation. “Sorry.”

Ptoq makes a sound between a wail and a snort, and it sounds so bizarre Lance can only stare for a few moments until he realises it’s a laugh. He grins, then quickly turns it into a close-mouthed smile.

“Thanks for rescuing us earlier.” Lance nudges Keith in the side, looking at him meaningfully. “Don’t you have something to say to Ptoq?”

Keith side-eyes him, then sighs in annoyance. He turns to them, not saying anything at first, but then finally speaks.

“Thank you.” He pauses, sounding as if it pains him what he’s about to say, but then continues grudgingly, “We would have been in a big mess if you hadn’t helped us out.”

Lance purses his lips, about to point out that he had meant an apology, but Ptoq nods once.

“I would have been too.”

There’s a short lull in conversation during which Lance can practically hear the gears turning in Keith’s head and the audible click when he has reached a conclusion.

“How did you manage to get out of the holding cells?” he asks, tone curious, but there’s a careful neutrality there, masking suspicion. Lance is a little bit surprised at himself how well he’s learned to read Keith but he pays that discovery little mind, now intrigued by Ptoq’s answer to the question.

They seem to be staring at them, not replying for a long, stretched moment, and Lance can’t tell at all whether it’s a good or bad silence.

“The Galra heard that the Voltron Paladins were coming here, and that they would split up.” Ptoq finally begins their explanation. “They suddenly pulled all the soldiers from their positions when they came, to try and capture them. It was chaos, so I took the opportunity to try and run.”

Keith’s eyes narrow as he hums thoughtfully.

“And so you did.” he slowly says, then smiles in a way that makes Lance shiver. It’s not a good shiver. “Congratulations on making it out.”

Ptoq only nods, eyes fixed on Keith. The whiskers lie still.

“Well,” Lance breaks the tension that has inexplicably begun to settle over them. They both interrupt their staring match to look at him, Ptoq as expressionless as ever and Keith mildly irritated. Lance shrugs it off; after all, that’s what Keith usually looks like, “How about we all get some sleep?”

They’re not due to meet the rest of team Voltron until tomorrow morning, but something tells him that he shouldn’t be telling Ptoq that; maybe it’s that intense warning glare Keith sends him, like he can sense what he was about to say. Lance sticks out his tongue.

Ptoq nods, not responding to, or perhaps not noticing, their little exchange.

Keith pulls Lance a little ways off to the side when they begin to look for a place to lie down.

“I don’t trust him. Them.” Keith whispers without preamble, keeping his eyes on Ptoq. Lance sighs, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Look, we all know you have trust issues - “ he starts. Keith shakes his head.

“No. It’s not that. There’s something off about them.” he says, tone still hushed but clearly conveying his frustration. Lance wants to roll his eyes but refrains from doing so.

“Ptoq is harmless, alright? Yeah, okay, they’ve got a freaky set of chompers, but they were scared of us and can retract them, right? Plus, they helped us.”

Keith’s face looks pinched; he says nothing but he doesn’t have to. It’s pretty obvious what he thinks of Lance’s mental and judging capabilities at the moment.

“If I have trust issues, you’re _too_ trusting.” he says, lips pressed together. It's much nicer than what he could have said. He turns and leaves before Lance can reply. This time, he gives into his urge and does roll his eyes at Keith’s retreating back, but it’s late and he’s tired, so Lance goes to join the rest of their little troupe by the fire to sleep.

Soon, the only sounds are even breathing and the crackling of an open flame.

\- O -

When Lance wakes, he isn’t exactly sure what did it. The sky’s still pitch dark and the sounds of the fire are absent, so it must’ve died some time ago -

Shuffling noises from somewhere closer to the cave’s entrance catch his attention and he’s on his feet in a heartbeat, bayard drawn in defense. It’s two silhouettes, one obviously pinning the other to the wall. Something long and sharp glints in the cold moonlight.

“Keith!” Lance drops his defensive stance, running over. Keith doesn’t turn around, nor does he drop his sword at his arrival. It’s firmly held to Ptoq’s throat. “What the hell are you doing?”

“They’re lying.” Keith hisses, pressing the blade a little closer. Ptoq takes in a sharp, rattling breath. “Even if the Galra sent out every soldier, they wouldn’t have left the prison completely unguarded. There’s no way Ptoq escaped without help.”

“What the - Keith, will you _stop_ being so _paranoid_ \- “ Lance tugs at Keith’s arm, trying to pull him away from Ptoq who isn’t even doing anything, just standing there unnaturally still -, “Besides, if Ptoq had help they would be with us now too, wouldn’t they?”

He directs that question at Ptoq who still doesn’t reply. Keith isn’t budging though Lance can feel his resistance crumble.

“Not if they let them out on purpose.” Keith refuses to back down, eyes fixed on Ptoq’s, who once again only stares back silently.

“And why would they do that?” Lance asks, unable to hide his exasperation and annoyance. Keith doesn’t reply though he looks like he very much wants to; he shoots Lance a look so desperate, he almost reels back in surprise.

“Let’s just. Go back to sleep, yeah?” Lance manages to say almost calmly. He puts a gentle hand on Keith’s sword arm and takes his other to carefully lower the blade from its resting place against Ptoq’s neck. “We’re all just tired. It's been a long day."

Keith’s body is thrumming with tension underneath his hands but he doesn’t protest or shake Lance off. Even in the near dark, Lance can tell his jaw is set. He’s still staring at Ptoq who hasn’t moved.

Then Keith abruptly turns and goes back to the remains of their fire, poking at the ashes. Lance sighs silently in relief, and sends Ptoq an apologetic look.

“Sorry - he’s really tense -”, he says, aware of how lame that sounds, and rubs the back of his neck. Ptoq only shakes their head once, and Lance thinks he can almost discern something like a smile from them even though nothing about their expression changes.

“Don’t apologise for your friend. Vigilance is an important skill in these times.” they say, quite wisely, as they follow Keith back to the fire he has restarted by now, though they sit a wary distance away from him. Lance can’t blame them.

Sleep doesn’t come easy for the rest of the night, dancing flames casting flickering shadows across the walls like a strange kind of foreboding. The tension from before is back and this time, Lance knows there’s nothing he can do to make it disappear. He lies there, quite nervously and tense, but eventually exhaustion overcomes everything else and he finally drifts off.

\- O -

When Lance wakes again, it’s like a scene from a nightmare.

It’s a hard shove that does the job, followed by an aborted scream. Lance jumps up, bewildered and tense, heart hammering and his breath fast. His eyes are wild as he surveys his surroundings.

The first thing he notices, is Ptoq’s shackle and Keith’s bayard on the ground. The second, that Ptoq is gone.

And the third, that Keith is laying at his feet, his face a pained grimace and his hands clutching his midsection. They're pressed hard into the unprotected part of his suit, black fabric steadily growing even darker as something wet spreads beneath his fingers. Keith's jaw is clenched, eyebrows drawn together as he stares at the steadily growing patch. Something in Lance rebels at acknowledging its true colour.

Then Keith looks up at him, equal parts terrified and desperate. He reaches out a hand. His white armguard is stained a vibrant red.

Lance freezes, can only stare at that colour for a long moment as his mind wrestles with what it means. He wants to believe that this red is just the colour of Keith’s uniform, wants to ignore how even more of it is dyeing the cloth to the deepest black, gleaming wetly in the sparse light.

It feels unreal but it’s not and he can’t breathe. He falls to his knees.

“What - “ he croaks, mouth dry. He licks his lips and tries again, shaking hands reaching out to the wound spilling red, red, red. “What ha -”

“You have to leave. Now.” Keith interrupts him harshly, coughing. His voice shakes despite the bravado he puts on display. Blood bubbles out of the corner of his mouth. Lance feels sick. “Ptoq was released to lead the Galra to us. That shackle is a tracking device.”

Lance looks up at the shackle; it takes his shocked brain a few moments to register its rapidly increased blinking.

This can’t be happening.

“What - but why - “

“Who cares why, you have to go! Now!” Keith hisses at him. He takes one of Lance’s hands, squeezing it so tight, it hurts. It's a mockery of the handshakes they exchange at the end of every mission. Keith looks up at Lance, eyes hard, as if trying to impress how important it is to do what he tells him to do. “If you don’t leave now, they’ll find you. Take my bayard.”

Something finally starts to sink in through the heavy fog in Lance’s head; Keith is telling him to go - without him. His hand begins to slip from Lance's loose grasp.

“What - I’m not leaving you!” Lance yells, the sound finally completely breaking his apathy. He holds on tighter, squeezing Keith's hand back for a long second before letting go. “I have to get you up -”

“Lance, I’m only going to slow you down.” Keith still sounds unreasonably in control despite slurring a bit, and Lance hates it. “I’ve already lost a lot of blood, I’m -”

“Shut up!” Lance screams, face nearly as red as all that damned blood. His eyes are burning and he wipes at them furiously, leaving a streak of red among the rest of the dirt on his face. “Stop talking shit, I’m not leaving you here, and that’s final!”

He scoops Keith up in his arms, staggering a bit under his weight. Keith is horrifyingly limp, arms swinging back and forth, as his eyes suddenly seem to have difficulty staying open.

“Why are you so heavy, you’re not even that tall.” Lance complains, ignoring how his voice is sliding up and down several octaves, a sure sign of hysteria. His mouth is on autopilot, blabbering to keep from losing it. He only manages to take a single step before they both crash back to the ground. Keith coughs again, more blood colouring his lips a red so dark, it’s nearly black. Lance purposely doesn’t look any lower than that, scared of what he’ll see.

He can’t remember ever having been as scared as he is now.

Keith’s eyes stay closed, eyelids unnaturally still, and Lance slaps his face in panic. To his utter relief, they fly open and fixate Lance with a glare.

“You idiotic moron, I told you to run.” he rasps, obviously trying to sound angry but all Lance can hear is fear. His voice is shaking so hard by now that Lance has difficulty understanding him. Keith is scared, and that’s perhaps the scariest thing of all.

“And I told you, I’m not leaving without you.” Lance snaps back, tone openly hysterical now. He makes to sit up again but Keith’s hand shoots out to grab him around the wrist. Lance has to wince in his iron grip, but he manages a wobbly grin directed at Keith beneath him. “Nice try, but _that_ is not a dying man’s strength - “

“Lance.”

He falls silent, Keith’s tone as serious and measured, but also as raw and vulnerable, as he’s ever heard it. The fear is still there but so is a bizarre sense of peace. Shock, Lance thinks, feeling quite uprooted himself, must be shock. He stares down at Keith, scared, anticipating, but mostly just insanely worried. They really have to get him to a healing pod asap. On some level, Lance is aware he's still avoiding a dark realisation skirting the edge of his thoughts.

“What?” he prompts, softer than he means to, when Keith doesn’t continue. He leans in closer unconsciously, Keith’s eyes fluttering once again with the effort to stay open.

“I’m glad I saved you.”

The whisper is almost inaudible. Almost, but Lance just manages to hear it. His heart stops at the implication, just as Keith’s breath leaves his lungs and doesn’t return. His eyes stop fluttering, closing for the last time. Keith's hold on Lance's wrist goes slack, and his hand slips to the ground.

It's the soft noise of its impact on cold stone that gets Lance's heart beating again, blood rushing through his ears with a loud roar.

“No!” Lance shakes Keith, desperate, frantic. Keith’s head lolls against his shoulders. This isn't real. _This can't be happening_ \- “Don’t do this to me, asshole!”

“Well, well, if it isn’t two of Voltron’s Paladins.”

Lance freezes, standing up slowly and turns around.

The Galra.

_“Pidge to Lance and Keith, where are you two?”_

Lance doesn’t reply to Pidge’s enquiry through his helmet, shutting the speakers off but leaving the microphone and GPS signal enabled. It takes him longer than usual, his hands shaking too hard as he fumbles, and he can only pray it doesn't look too obvious.

He can't risk losing anyone else to the Galra.

“Ah, my mistake, _one_ of Voltron’s Paladins.” the one who spoke corrects himself, spotting Keith’s still form on the ground. Lance twitches, one bloodied hand clenching by his side. “That makes things easier.”

“How does that make things easier?” Lance finally says something. He sounds surprisingly stable, cold even, as he draws out his bayard. He isn't shaking anymore, though his chest throbs dully with a loss that hasn’t quite sunken in yet. Black and dark red is beginning to creep up the edges of his vision. The Galra, a general judging by his uniform, stares at him unfathomably, then raises an eyebrow.

“If you’re planning to fight, I feel the need to inform you that this cave is surrounded. You can either take on a whole army and join your friend there on the ground or you can come quietly and take a chance at staying alive a bit longer.” The Galra general pauses, then smiles predatorily. His yellow eyes gleam as his sharp teeth come into view. “Which will it be?”

Lance doesn’t remember making a conscious decision but after a heartbeat of silence, he breaks it with an earth-shattering scream and charges.

\- O -

Everything after that is a blur. When Lance takes a look at the video footage his helmet recorded, most of it is too shaky to make much sense.

He does vaguely remember grabbing Keith’s bayard; he must have, since it’s laying in his lap. The amount of red on it is much more than usual, and beginning to turn a rusty brown.

If Lance squeezes his eyes shut so that they’re only open by a sliver, he can convince himself that it’s just dirt.

Not blood.

Lance swallows hard, his grip on the weapon tightening. Some dry flakes of the stuff drift off of the blade and his hand.

Oh, god, so much blood.

He lets go of the bayard to lift his hands. They’re stained a red so deep, it’s almost black, much like his suit he still hasn’t bothered to change out of. Another suit, black, white and far too red flashes across his mind.

Lance’s vision blurs, darkening at the edges. He blinks again and hot tears begin to fall.

_“I’m glad I saved you.”_

Lance doesn’t try to stop it when a sob tears itself out of his throat. His hand goes back to the bayard, clutching it to his chest.

_Why didn’t you let me save you?_


	2. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team deals with Keith’s loss in their own ways, but there is something they don’t know yet...

_If you’re lucky, you’ll see a meteor and think it’s beautiful._

* * *

It takes a week for the meals Hunk leaves by Lance’s door to return with any visible sign of being touched. The trays are never empty, barely picked at, but it’s better than nothing.

It takes two weeks for Lance to leave his room. No one ever sees him doing it; they just find it empty one day when Shiro’s worry for Lance overrides his concern for privacy.

It’s as messy as anyone’s ever seen it.

That’s not reassuring at all, since Lance’s care for his appearance extends to his living quarters, but despite this, they all know he’s still on board. After all, they’re not docked anywhere at the moment and there’s nowhere to go besides space. But, no one can deny that a rather worrisome thought has crossed their minds, so when Pidge sneakily installs a camera opposite Lance’s door Shiro pretends not to notice. It pays off when Pidge’s camera feed catches Lance leaving and entering his room at odd times. It’s enough to give everyone a bit of room to breathe.

It takes three weeks until Allura accidentally stumbles over him in the planetarium. Lance is fast asleep, slumped against the controls. When she cautiously takes a closer look at his face, a heavy weight sinks into her chest.

He’s pale, a sickly white that isn’t much helped by the solar system’s tiny planet projections flitting all over the place as they eerily glow. Dark shadows line his eyes and mouth, and even in his sleep, Lance is frowning, eyebrows drawn together as if in pain. A grove has appeared between them, a new addition, and one that looks like it’s here to stay. Despite all of this, he’s breathing deep and evenly, and Allura has to wonder if this is the first decent sleep he’s gotten ever since -

She blinks, swallowing around the lump in her throat. Altean flowers and her father’s face appear in her mind’s eye. It’s not the same, but she knows a thing or two about being in too much pain to sleep.

Allura decides not to wake him, instead disappearing quietly after settling a thin blanket over him.

Pidge catches the tail end of Lance’s jacket disappearing through the closing doorway of his room hours later.

Four weeks after Lance’s return, Shiro musters up enough courage to go to Keith’s room. It’s as sparse in decoration as he remembers, nothing apart from the provided furniture filling up space, and sheets tucked into the bed army style.

He wanders the room a bit aimlessly, letting his fingertips roam over the smooth surface of the small desk in the corner, a chair, the doors of Keith’s closet. Only hesitating for a moment, he opens it, maybe hoping to find some sign that Keith existed once, in some place other than just precious memories.

He finds a pair of black jeans, a pair of red and white biker boots, a black t-shirt, a plain belt, and some fingerless black gloves. They’re all neatly folded and stacked on top of one another except the boots that stand guard on the side. They gleam, as if they have only been set aside yesterday, ready to wear.

The jacket is missing.

The next day, Coran offers Shiro Keith’s bayard, shiny and clean. Not a trace of dirt is left on it, leaving it looking good as new, and Shiro doesn’t quite know whether to be glad or not. At least the stains would have served as a reminder of its previous owner and the life given in the name of protecting it.

“Technically, it’s the princess’s.” Coran explains quietly, not voicing the silent  _as long as there’s no Paladin to wield it._ “But you’re Voltron’s current leader, and you were all close. Do with it what you will.”

What he really means, and Shiro can feel the responsibility settle onto his shoulders like a heavy cloak, is that it’s up to him to find a new Paladin to pilot the Red Lion. It’s cruel but necessary and Shiro realises this is the Alteans’ way of giving him, all of them, time to grieve. No new Paladin will be found until he, until the surviving members of Voltron, are ready.

Voltron is handicapped until they have someone to pilot Red, and it is a gesture of great proportions to leave the power to decide how long the universe will be left vulnerable, in the hands of humans.

Coran and Allura’s generosity surprises Shiro but, in a way, he understands - all of Voltron’s current Paladins are human, and they’re allowed to cope with a loss of their own the only way they know how.

Shiro takes the offered bayard. His smile is brief and sad, but Coran takes it as the gratitude it is, and nods.

Shiro, Pidge and Hunk unanimously agree to leave the final decision up to Lance.

When Hunk puts down another meal at his door that night, Pidge and Shiro stand with him. Hunk and Pidge watch silently as Shiro places the Red Paladin’s bayard on the tray next to the food. He almost doesn’t let go, keeps his hold on it a few more moments, before he releases it, and stands. The atmosphere is heavy and sombre, but they can all feel that this is right – or perhaps, simply that Lance is the one who needs this the most.

When Hunk comes back to fetch the tray later, it’s the first that returns completely empty.

– O –

Pain.

It’s the only thing Keith is aware of, and it takes an immeasurable amount of time for him to become conscious enough of the fact that he can feel any pain at all, means he’s still alive.

_I’m alive._

It takes a lot of effort and even more energy to simply open his eyes, and once he’s finally managed it, he doesn’t even know if it’s worth it; all he’s achieved is make the throbbing in his head worse. Everything is blurry and he still can’t see a thing.

Something moves at the corner of his vision, more of a faint outline than an actual shape, but it’s enough to catch his attention. Keith’s muscles seize up in an attempt to follow his immediate battle reflexes, but all that happens is that the pain increases tenfold, like liquid fire racing through his veins. A hiss leaves his lips involuntarily, and they draw back to bare his teeth as his back arches off the flat surface he’s laying on.

His muscle spasms feel like they go on forever, but once they finally start to settle down, too weak to react to the pain, Keith dimly comes to the realisation that he’s strapped down. He tries to tug his wrist out of the band holding it but to no avail; his body barely responds with more than a weak twitch of his fingers.

“I see you’re awake.”

Keith’s blood runs cold. He’s heard that voice before, even if his memory of it is hazy. He  _knows_  that voice. It was there when everything faded to black...and it's here now.

His eyes still don’t manage to focus but even so, he can hear the grin in their following words, can picture sharp teeth, yellow eyes and purple Galra skin and hair, dimly remembers a hand holding his and a voice calling for him.

“Welcome back, Paladin. Ready to meet my Druid?”

– O –

It's been five weeks now.

Five weeks since that mission gone wrong, five weeks since Lance has become a complete shut-in, five weeks that's everyone had to deal with Keith's death.

It’s been one week since Lance took that bayard and nothing else.

It’s radio silence, and no one dares to disturb it, but Shiro can tell that it’s not just Keith’s loss that hit everyone hard. It’s Lance’s change in attitude that makes everything even worse.

He can tell from the way that Hunk still diligently provides him with meals and the worried, hurt looks he sends toward the door that remains closed, no matter what.

He can tell by how Pidge’s habit of falling asleep in random places gains a dangerous element, how the tinkering she’d lose herself in hours at a time, once, now stretches on for days to the point where he has to carry her, asleep, back to her room, or for someone to force her to eat regularly.

He can tell by how Coran immerses himself in the work that needs doing on the castle even more than before, chattering louder than usual, only to disappear as soon as someone takes a too gentle tone and a simple inquiry of ‘Are you alright?’

He can tell in the way Allura keeps up her brutal training regime, increasing how strict she is on them, in the hopes that no one notices her too frequent, vacant stares or how she cuts herself off mid-sentence before she utters a name too painful for anyone to hear, yet.

Shiro can tell that the rift among everyone is steadily growing because of the loss of a valuable team member, a member of their own little, rag-tag family, and is only helped along by the withdrawal of another. It feels like they didn’t lose one, but two Paladins, two of their own, and the castle is busier than ever to bridge the sudden silence that wasn’t there before.

It’s killing Shiro, stifling him to the point where the silence seeps into the raw gap left in his heart, and it hurts until all he can do is silently scream. No one will hear, or at least it feels like it.

They’re all falling apart, and he wants to fix it, even though the key to that isn’t in his hands. So, he waits, but more and more times passes, until he can’t, not anymore.

Something needs to be done, now, or nothing ever will, he resolves after one more silent, sleepless night as he stares at stars that aren’t his own.

It’s time.

– O –

Earth looks tiny.

It used to be everything any of them knew, with its blue skies that sometimes turned grey, or white, or, when you were in the right place at the right time, glorious shades of gold, pinks, purples. Other days, it may go up in a fiery display of yellow, red, orange, reflected on the water below, if you were outside of the city.

Lance thinks of glittering oceans, bright beaches, his family. Everything he left behind without saying goodbye or letting them know where he went...he wishes he would have.

Clouds, like thin wisps of cotton, drift across the rich greens and blues of Earth’s surface. He slowly reaches out to touch the projection.

As a kid, it had always been a bit of a silly dream of his to find out if they were really were as soft as they looked. Maybe that was part of the reason why he trained as much as he could to get into the Garrison, to become a Fighter class pilot.

His fingers meet the hologram, and it flickers, buzzing static. Lance balls them into a fist and pulls back. The static disappears.

Unreachable, just like that dream, or becoming Fighter class. If not for Keith…

Lance blinks, and looks away. He feels like he’s going to cry, again, and he hates it. He’s cried enough that there shouldn’t be any tears left.

“Hey.”

He nearly jumps at the unexpected greeting, shoulders hunching. Shiro walks up next to him, hesitating shortly, before he sits down by his side. Lance can’t look him in the eye.

“Sure looks small, doesn’t it?”

Lance doesn’t really know what to say, so he says nothing. Shiro sighs, and Lance tenses up; he can feel him looking at him.

“You’ve got everyone worried, you know.” He pauses, but Lance doesn’t give any indication of having heard him. Why? Why would they be worried? Shouldn’t they all hate him too much for that? “All of us - we miss you.”

That’s unexpected.

So unexpected, in fact, that Lance twitches, involuntarily glancing over at Shiro. He isn’t looking at him anymore; instead, his gaze is focused on the lazily spinning stars and planets surrounding them.

If Lance tries hard enough, only looking at it all sideways, they almost look like slowly drifting snow. Shiro doesn’t say anything after that, and the room descends back into silence.

If it was just a little bit colder, Lance could imagine this was a snowy winter’s day, maybe even Christmas Eve...how long have they been gone from Earth? Is his family looking for him? If it’s Christmas...it would be the first Lance spends away from them...and who knows how they would celebrate, if at all -

He squeezes his eyes shut. This is too painful to think about, and the reason he came here was to escape pain, not find more.

“Come back, Lance.” Shiro is staring at him again, an insistent sort of gaze digging into him. Lance stubbornly keeps his eyes away from him, away from Earth. “We - we know it’s different now. Without -.” he pauses, almost like he’s choking. Lance’s chest throbs in pain anyway, “- but that’s why we have to hold on to who is left. We can’t separate like this. Strength and unity is in numbers, and Voltron -”

“Voltron can’t be formed.” Lance bursts out, suddenly seeing red. How can Shiro be so cold? “Not without Keith.”

There’s another silence and it feels thick, somehow, tense.

“I was going to say, Voltron is dependent on our bond with each other.” Shiro continues eventually, voice clipped. Lance shivers, dread beginning to fill him; that’s the closest thing to anger he’s ever heard from Shiro, and it’s icy, cold anger, scary. “We all miss him, Lance.” Another pause. “You’re not the only one who lost someone.”

Lance is unprepared for the raw hurt he can hear at that. He finally looks at him, and this time, their eyes meet. Shiro is frowning, and he blinks rapidly to dispel the tears Lance can see appearing, but he can still recognise the deep grief in Shiro’s eyes. His stomach sinks with guilt, involuntarily recalling that first fateful rescue mission back on Earth.

“You knew each other before, didn’t you?” he realises out loud, feeling his guilt multiply. Lance feels sick. Shiro nods, gaze drifting sideways again to rest on Earth’s innocently spinning projection.

“Yes.” he says, voice unusually hoarse. Shiro clears his throat but the hoarseness doesn’t disappear. "He...he was like family.”

_Family._

Lance swallows, hard; as far as anyone knew, Keith had no family...except, apparently, Shiro. And now, Keith is gone.

Lance doesn’t even want to imagine what it’s like to lose anyone that close to him.

“H...how?” he manages to ask, a barely formed question in his head and equally crippled on his tongue, but Shiro seems to get it anyway.

“We met by...coincidence, I guess you could say.” Shiro’s voice sounds as if he’s far off in the past, recalling fond memories, by his soft tone. “He was in an orphanage close to the Garrison. I walked past it every day, and at some point, we ran into each other...you know how quiet he is, he didn’t say much but he was obviously fascinated by my uniform. He probably knew I attended the Garrison…” He breaks off, not finishing the sentence, but then continues with a waver in his voice.. “He seemed lonely and we slowly got talking. I’m not sure what I was to him, but to me...he became my family away from home. A brother I never had.”

Shiro stops again, voice shaking too hard to continue. Lance is frozen, listening to Shiro as he fights to keep his composure, to keep that air of calm that always surrounds him and makes him seem untouchable. Lance doesn’t know what to do, not with the revelation, not with a Shiro he has never seen as anything less than strong and stable, a rock keeping them all grounded. Not with a Shiro who is obviously falling apart, because his _family_ died.

And it’s all Lance’s fault. Keith is gone because of him, because he was stupid and _such a fool_ -

“I’m sorry.”

Now Lance is choking too and he can’t even be bothered to try and hide how his eyes go blurry and hot once again. Earth begins to blink out of sight, nothing but a smear of colour among a whole galaxy of bright spots that disappear behind a hazy veil.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, voice breaking on the last syllable. His hands clench into fists on his lap; he doesn’t even notice the weight of Shiro’s hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’m _so sorry_ …!”

“Don’t apologise.” Shiro interrupts Lance’s blubbering, soft but firm, still somewhat stuffy. “Just, come back, talk to us -”

“You should hate me!” Lance blurts, shaking his head at Shiro’s gentle insistence, all of the fear and guilt which has accumulated over the last few weeks spilling over, spurred on by grief.

Someone has to take the blame because Keith would never be so easily defeated, and that someone is Lance. It has to be. “All of you!”

The hand on his shoulder tightens and Shiro stills.

“Why?”

The question is as non-judgmental as Shiro always is but Lance doesn’t deserve it, not this time. He hasn’t told any of them, fear keeping him away because maybe they _knew_ somehow anyway. So he let it rot inside him like a dark secret, acid eating away at his insides, but now it’s all coming out, exploding like a volcano without rhyme or reason.

“Because I didn’t believe him!” Lance yells hysterically, jumping up to look down at Shiro, shaking all over and eyes wide. More tears form and Lance wipes at them angrily but only more follow, falling fast, like the stream of words pouring out of him. “If only I had listened to him - he warned me about - about that alien - !”

“Whoa, slow down! What are you talking about?” Shiro’s frowning again, standing so he’s on eye level with Lance. It doesn’t help him catch his gaze, back to skittering along the walls like some anxious animal or a terrified child about to be scolded, only much, much worse. Lance is fidgeting, pulling his sleeves over his fingers to rub against the worn red cloth underneath his jacket. The usual calm and reassurance doesn’t come, doesn’t settle heavy over his anxiety like it has since he returned and Keith didn’t. Shiro’s alarm is barely audible but still present in the way he swallows heavily, as if sensing what Lance has been hiding. “Lance?”

“Escaping didn’t go as - as  smoothly as planned. We ran into an escaped G-Galra prisoner on the way. K-Keith didn’t trust it. But I did.” Lance’s nails dig hard into his palm, the physical pain almost a relief. His gaze focuses on the ground, a curious pitch black which stands in stark contrast to the rotating lights of the planets illuminating the rest of the room. “He was right not to. And I was wrong.” He finally forces himself to look up but can barely stand against Shiro’s shocked stare, dropping his eyes in overwhelming shame and guilt. “H-he saved me, Shiro. The alien was going to kill _me_ and Keith jumped in the way. And then he-he -”

“Stop.”

Lance chokes on air, past the point of caring that he can barely breathe past suppressed sobs, and covers his face with his hands.

“I _killed Keith_. It’s _my_ fault.”

“Lance - ”

“You h-hate me now, don’t you?” Lance’s voice comes out small, child-like, raw, hurt and so, so broken. He can feel more than hear Shiro shift and suddenly, he’s enveloped in warmth.

“No.” Shiro’s voice is somewhere in the vicinity of his ear, and while this is unfamiliar, it also _isn’t._ It’s a hug, and bizarrely welcome, a touch Lance wasn’t aware of how much he craved until now, and while it’s not from family, it’s close enough. One of Shiro’s hands, the human one, warm and solid, is on the back of his head and pressing it against his shoulder. Lance can feel his breath steady a bit and the sobs weaken. “Never. Keith just did what he thought was right. It could have been any of us.”

_But it was me._

Lance doesn’t say it out loud but he has a feeling Shiro can hear him anyway. He also chooses not to say anything, instead just keeps him locked in the hug. Maybe he knows that nothing but time can really lessen the guilt Lance feels, or maybe even nothing at all.

Lance lets himself sink into the hug, _just a bit longer_ , because it’s more soothing than anything he’s tried so far. Eventually, finally, he pulls away, and forces himself to smile. It’s small, wobbly, a touch embarrassed and still fragile, but it feels real.

“T-thank you.” His voice is rough and his tongue feels thick, but at least he sounds stable.

Shiro nods, not quite smiling, not quite not-smiling. He turns halfway toward the exit, then looks back at Lance. “Ready to come back?”

Lance nods and Shiro does smile then. It’s not a happy smile, but one full of defeat, and makes all the guilt he managed to bury return with vengeance. His chest throbs, and his fists unclench, letting go of his sleeves.

“Wait.” Shiro stops mid-step, looking at him in puzzlement. Lance looks away, glowing a faint pink, as he peels himself out of his jacket and reveals Keith’s underneath his own. Studiously avoiding Shiro’s wide-eyed gaze, Lance takes that off too before hastily slipping his own jacket back on. He holds the familiar red garment out to Shiro. “Here. You - you need it more than I do.”

Shiro doesn’t move at all for a disconcerting amount of time, making Lance increasingly anxious. Just when he reaches the point where dread and curiosity make him want to look up, Shiro’s hand closes around his. Lance dares to lift his eyes. Shiro’s smile is still full of pain but also unfailingly kind, as always.

Lance still feels like he doesn’t deserve it, any of it. But he does feel a little less raw at the edges.

“Keep it.”

He wants to protest; Shiro has more of a right than him to anything Keith owns - _owned -_ but he’s already letting go. “He’d want you to have it.”

Even if Lance wanted to say anything or offer more protest, he wouldn’t know what. Not after that. He’s speechless, for once. Trust Keith to be able to do that even after -

Lance swallows. Time for a topic change.

_Why me?_

“Are you sure?” he asks instead. Shiro nods again.

“Yeah.”

And that’s that. Shiro leaves, and Lance follows soon after, shutting off the planetarium.

Later, he joins the rest of the team for dinner for the first time in weeks, and even if nothing feels normal, not yet, and maybe never again, everyone breathes a bit easier.

– O –

It's one of many days when Allura gets up at her usual time and goes about her morning routine. As usual, the first thing she does, is check for any distress signals or satellite messages sent to the castle. Often enough, there's nothing of interest, only advertisements planets send out to attract more tourists; distress signals have luckily been rare lately, or perhaps not so luckily, as at least that would bring some much needed distraction to the heavy atmosphere permeating the castle.

Today is no different, until she finds _it_.

It looks the same as everything else at first glance, so she pays it little attention. Allura is almost done deleting all of the new, useless messages until she gets to this one. She opens it as per her usual way of doing it, only concentrating half-heartedly as she sips at her cup of that wonderful human invention Hunk calls coffee. Then this particular message's contents flash up on the gigantic holo-screen.

It's a Galra, a general by the looks of it. And just behind him, squeezed to the edge of the screen, is an unconscious but very much alive, very familiar looking face.

Allura's cup crashes to the ground, splashing hot liquid and broken shards everywhere.

"We have your Paladin, Princess of Altea. We would like to propose a trade."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N#1: Sorry for the wait, I put too much pressure on myself and consequently got a bit of anxiety and writer's block. For any of you who are following 'Orbit', I'm aiming to finish the next chapter in time to be uploaded on sunday.
> 
> A/N#2: tying in with the anxiety, part of this may read awkwardly and for that I apologise. I'll attempt to fix that up over the next few days.
> 
> **TEMPORARY NOTICE**  
> I broke my elbow about a week ago (17th december 2016) and am in a full cast. I won't be able to type for a while, presumably the standard 6 weeks it should take a bone to heal. If I'm lucky, it'll be healed faster, but no guarantees. I'm sad to say that this year won't finish out with any more updates. Sorry.


End file.
